Long was the Battle, Longer was the Night
by black polish and thick liner
Summary: Connor, Risa, Lev, and Cam find themselves aboard the Leviathan as it is attacked by airship/parts pirates, and must team up with the middies to save themselves. But can they come together, or will their individual secrets tear them apart? AU and possibly OOC in some parts. Rated T just to be safe. The full summary is inside.
1. introduction

_Long was the Battle,_

_Longer was the Night_

_~introduction~_

Connor Lassiter stole a young man's identity and joined the Air Service to escape his unwind order, but events in his past haunt him ceaselessly.

Prince Aleksandar is running from German agents that would sell his parts on the black market to keep him from the Austrian throne.

Risa and Lev Ward are working a miserable job—Lev to get his sister a new spine, and Risa to keep her brother out of the Chop Shop.

Deryn Sharp disguised herself as a boy to become a soldier.

Camus Comprix is struggling to find acceptance from both his peers and himself.

And Newkirk? Poor Newkirk gets shoved into the middle of everything.

These seven teens find themselves aboard the _Leviathan_ as it begins its journey around the world. Before it can get very far, though, the mighty airship is attacked by vicious pirates, and they are the only ones not killed or captured. If the pirates _do_ capture them, they will all be unwound on the black market. Can they come together and take back the _Leviathan_, or will secrets, lies, and decades-old prejudices end their lives for good?

**~~~~()~~~~**

**A/N: _Unwind _was my all-time favorite novel for the longest time, but then _Leviathan _came along, and suddenly I had the biggest tie for my favorite. So I couldn't resist crossing them.**

**This story takes place in an alternate universe where _Behemoth_ was delayed for a little while.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the _Unwind_ series or the _Leviathan _series; they are the property of Neal Shusterman and Scott Westerfeld, respectively.**

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	2. 1: Connor

_Long was the Battle,_

_Longer was the Night_

_1 ~ Connor_

Connor Lassiter glanced at the prisoner Middy Sharp had recently captured with a skeptical frown. He couldn't be much older than the rest of the middies—actually, his disheveled hair and the dark circles under his eyes made him appear quite a few years younger. Connor wondered where the boy had come from. He may insist that he lived in a nearby village, but Connor's ability to trust people had been severely impaired. He doubted the prisoner's story was true. And the way he insisted on being let go wasn't helping his case.

"Why? Do you have a pressing appointment?" Connor had sneered a few moments before.

"Actually yes," the boy had responded, his Clanker accent clear. "My family will be worried if I don't get back soon."

"They should've thought about that before sending you out then, shouldn't they."

The boy squirmed in the chair he was sitting in. "They didn't exactly send me out."

"So you snuck out." One side of Connor's mouth stretched into a smirk. "Impressive. But you've got to be careful, man. Defiance is one of the best ways to get unwound."

"This is Switzerland, you dummkopf, they don't practice unwinding here."

_That's right_, Connor reminded himself. Part of him hoped rescue was delayed so that they could stay here for a while, but that was a moronic wish. Delayed rescue would only bring a cold, hungry, miserable death.

But at least then he wouldn't be unwound. It was all about which perspective you took, Connor supposed.

Connor narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what you just said, but it sounded like an insult."

"It was," the prisoner said casually, as if the two were discussing the weather.

"What does it mean?" Connor chanted to himself not to punch the boy over and over again, but his hands curled into fists anyway.

The boy only smiled. Connor's anger boiled, and he prepared to swing.

"Robert!" came Dylan's voice from outside the room. He opened the door and raised an eyebrow at the scene before him. "Blisters, Robert, what are you doing?"

"He's not answering my questions," Connor grumbled. He wondered how the real E. Robert Mullard would act in this situation, then reminded himself that it didn't matter.

"So you decide to punch him?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." He glared at the boy and muttered, "Probably wouldn't be the first time he's been punched, either."

The boy narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

Dylan shook his head. "Your parents aren't very good decision makers, are they? Putting you in the barking military with a temper like that."

"I didn't end up here because of my temper," Connor said, telling the truth for once.

"Whatever. The lady boffin wants you to watch the eggs, so get going."

Connor frowned. "Newkirk's watching them."

"Go keep him company, then," Dylan snapped.

Connor took a deep breath as he headed for the machine room. As much as he didn't like watching the eggs, he liked dealing with that prisoner even less. The boy had an air of haughtiness about him that made Connor's blood boil. Apparently, he hadn't changed that much within the past month or so.

Ten weeks ago, Connor had found three tickets for a cruise in the Bahamas hidden in his father's office desk. He hadn't meant to snoop around—he'd only been looking for some paper clips—but once he found the tickets, he couldn't sop himself. After all, there were four people in his family, not three.

After five minutes of digging, he found the unwind order.

For several minutes, he had barely been able to breathe, although he hadn't exactly been surprised. It seemed...right, somehow, that is what his parents would choose for him. Of course they were going to unwind their son; what else were they supposed to do? Be actual _parents_?

To say he'd been furious was an understatement. Once he'd gotten over the shock of it all, that his parents were really going to do this to him, he'd been so angry he couldn't see straight. He wanted to find every valuable item in the house and smash it into little bits, then rip up the unwind order and burn it. But Connor knew it was too late; the order was irreversible, and there was nothing he could do or say that would save his life. So instead, he'd decided to make his parents' lives as awful as possible before he was unwound. He made sure to be the best son he could, so that the guilt over what they had decided to do would burn them like a branding iron.

But two weeks into his torture plan, and three weeks before he was to be unwound, Connor realized that making his parents miserable was just as effective as begging them to change the order. And so, he ran away. He stole enough of his parents' money to get him to Europe, where he hen enlisted in the Air Service.

Even though Ohio was a Clanker state, the Lassiters had lived in a more rural area, so he had grown up around Darwinist farming creatures. In retrospect, it might have been wiser to flee to a Clanker nation, where unwinding was illegal, but Connor didn't speak any language besides English. Besides, a lone teenager in any country is a suspicious teenager—unless, of course, they're in the military. And it was better to be a soldier than an AWOL. Then again, Connor was both, wasn't he?

Life becomes extremely complicated when one decides to run from their unwinding.

Connor reached the door of the machine room a few minutes later. He opened it, and a whirlwind of hot air slapped him across the face. Why Dr. Barlow insisted on keeping the room the same temperature as the surface of the sun was beyond him, but he could hardly wait until she left. Of course, the chance of having to pick up a boffin even more annoying later on was pretty good—that was simply the say life worked—but Connor would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Newkirk turned when Connor entered. "Come to take over?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Yes," Connor answered.

"Good," Newkirk said as he popped his neck. "I need to leave, anyway. Got to go up in a Huxley and watch for attacks. Try not to die of heatstroke in here."

"I will, thanks," Connor said, his voice flat.

Newkirk nodded once, looking nervous, then left without another word.

Connor felt a bit bad. He hadn't meant to sound like he was angry at Newkirk, because he wasn't. He was just angry in general. People did that to him sometimes.

He pulled an empty crate closer to the egg box and turned it so that he could sit on it. Connor stared at the remaining eggs as if he were trying to memorize every little freckle on their smooth, off-white surface. Three eggs were left, but according to the lady boffin, one was sick, so really, there were two left. Defective beasties hatched out of sick eggs, after all. It was strange, though, that the sick egg didn't look any different from the others. Sometimes, when his grandmother's fabricated hen had a sick egg, it would be smaller, or have a slightly different pallor. But none of these eggs had any noticeable differences from each other. Was Dr. Barlow lying, then? It was plausible; adults lied all the time.

Connor sighed. He wondered when these stupid eggs were going to hatch. He wondered if he was always going to feel this way—irritated and tired. Most days, it seemed that his bad moods would never end. He knew, though, that he had to be a soldier until he was eighteen. In two short years, he would be safe, and then he could go back to his life. Well, actually, he'd be incarcerated for a while—at least two years, because that would be how long he was on the run, then however many more for assuming a false name—then have a criminal record for the rest of his life. But at least he would have a life. _That_ was what mattered to Connor.

Unless, of course, he decided to be E. Robert Mullard forever. The thought was both appealing and horrifying, but it had worked so far, hadn't it? No one suspected a thing. Besides, it was far better to be a soldier than an AWOL. But then again, Connor was both.

He laughed once, a hollow, bitter sound. He could recall far too many conversations with his parents at home about the subject. Though unwinding unwanted teenagers was a relatively new idea, most adults supported it, and Kirk and Claire Lassiter were no exception.

"_People die from not having needed organs every day," _they would say to anyone with whom they got into this discussion. _"Unwinding solves that problem._

"_It's a scenario in which everyone gains something. People can receive the organs they need, and a troubled teenager is taken off the streets._

And as for the unwound child in question?

"_At least they know that their organs will go to a good cause. Besides, the procedure is completely painless."_

Connor wondered if adults truly thought that an absence of pain made something acceptable. He knew for a fact that if he were to slip someone some cyanide and that person later died in their sleep, feeling no pain and not suffering at all, he would still be tried as a murderer. It was disturbing how no one seemed to realize that unwinding was murder, too.

But as far as most adults were concerned, unwinding was ethical, and children who ran from their orders were cowardly, selfish AWOLs. Apparently, it was wrong to want to have a say in what happens to your body. No matter where he went in life after this, he would always be an AWOL at heart. Even if no one ever discovered the truth, he would have to live in a psychological prison, locked away with the knowledge of what he'd done for the rest of his life. Dozens of times a day, he tried to convince himself that what had happened hadn't been his fault, but guilt isn't an emotion one can reason with.

As Connor thought about all this, he realized that he felt strangely calm. The babble in his mind must have distracted him from his anger at the annoying prisoner. Or maybe it was the heat in the small room making him sleepy—his eyelids were drooping, after all. Or maybe it was both. Yes, that was probably it. He hadn't gotten much sleep in the past few days. The _Leviathan _was in the middle of surviving a near-fatal crash, and keeping the great airbeast alive required sacrifice from everyone.

Including cowardly, selfish AWOLs like himself.

**~~~~()~~~~**

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	3. 2: Deryn

_Long was the Battle,_

_Longer was the Night_

_2 ~ Deryn_

Deryn quickly checked the area for anyone close enough to spy on her, then raised the field glasses. She found Alek in seconds, translating for Hoffman, who was working with Mr. Hirst on attaching the engines. It seemed to be going pretty well, to someone who knew little to nothing about mechanics. Except...wait. Was the engine supposed to tilt at that angle? Apparently not, she realized. Hoffman appeared ready to tear his hair out with frustration.

She giggled softly. This was _much_ more entertaining than being on duty.

That thought made her lower the field glasses. Had she, Deryn Sharp, really just _giggled?_ She was a soldier! Soldiers don't giggle! Granted, soldiers also don't spy on boys they just met two days ago, but she chose to think about that right now.

Deryn shook her head._ Of course _she would start thinking more like a girl when she disguised herself as a boy. It was one of those horribly ironic things that happen at the least convenient time.

She turned away, looking instead up at Mr. Rigby, who was currently in a Huxley watching for signs of an assault. It didn't take a genius to figure out that one would come eventually. Several days had passed since they had crashed, and even though the airbeast looked healthy again, they still weren't in the best position to fight. They weren't even in the best position to _flee_, without a way to control where the ship was going.

A yellow flash in Deryn's peripheral vision caught her attention, and she raised the field glasses in the Huxley's direction. Mr. Rigby was frantically flashing the semaphore flags. After two tries, Deryn finally figured it out. An eight-legged walker was coming from ten miles away.

Deryn frowned. Why would a walker need eight legs? The biggest walkers had only six. _Well,_ she thought, _this one must be _really_ big._

She sighed and blew a whistle to sound an alert. This was going to be a close one.

~~~()~~~

Deryn took a deep breath as she closed the door of the machine room. It had been a stressful night, and she was ready to sleep. A lot. And if anyone dared interrupt her sleep, they would suffer dearly.

As she was walking to her room and thinking these things, she bumped into Robert, who looked less than happy that moment.

"Watch it," he snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"Nice to see you, too," she said, and rolled her eyes. "Are you ever in a good mood?"

Robert shook his head. "I don't think so, no."

"Well, that explains a lot," she muttered.

"You're one to talk. I never see _you_ acting cheery."

"Well, right now, I need sleep." Deryn paused. Now that she thought about it, there was something about Robert that put her off. Maybe his bad mood just spread through the air and permeated into her head. And it seemed to be just her, because Newkirk could be around him for hours and not be in a bad mood afterward.

Not, of course, that anyone would _want_ to spend hours with Robert, but the _Leviathan_ only had so much space.

"Don't we all?" Robert sighed. "Not getting sleep is the only thing I don't like about being in the Service."

Deryn raised an eyebrow. "I thought there were many things you didn't like about being in the Service."

"Yes, but lack of sleep is the worst," he clarified, and it occurred to Deryn for the first time that Robert was actually being pleasant.

She nodded. "Aye, definitely. We don't have any time to unwind."

Robert stiffened a squick, and something shifted in his eyes. She wondered what she had said, then mentally face-palmed herself. It had been _unwind_, of course. Robert was American, and pretty much every American younger than eighteen lived in constant fear of being unwound. Things were different in Scotland, where unwinding wasn't as common. Deryn was pretty certain that her mother would never sign the order, no matter how angry she was at her. But from what she heard, American parents unwound their children left and right.

She was about to apologize, but Robert mumbled something under his breath and hurried away. Deryn sighed and continued walking to her and Newkirk's shared room. She was there in minutes, and hurriedly unlaced her boots and crawled beneath the sheets. She closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come, so she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling.

Deryn lay silently and mulled over the last few days. The captain might think that letting the Clankers aboard was madness, and it was, but this was the second time they'd saved the _Leviathan_. Was there no such thing as amnesty? Thinking of their new passengers brought her thoughts to Alek, and the conversation they'd had earlier.

It had been too easy to get to know him, she reckoned. If she were in his position, she wouldn't tell anyone her secrets. But then again, Alek had probably had a relatively easy life, for a boy who had been rejected by his family. His parents' murders was the first tragedy he'd had to deal with directly, and it was clearly taking a toll on him.

Deryn swore softly and shook her head. She couldn't let herself have these thoughts. Not only was it completely mad, it was unsoldierly. And Deryn was a soldier first, a girl second.

**~~~()~~~**

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